Memory, Bosom-spring Of Joy.

Creation Rather Than Painting, Or If Painting, Yet Such, And With Such Co-presence Of The Whole Picture Flash'd At Once Upon The Eye, As The Sun Paints In A Camera Obscura. (describing His Poetic Ideal, 1817)

O Lady! We Receive But What We Give And In Our Life Alone Does Nature Live.

Our Quaint Metaphysical Opinions, In An Hour Of Anguish, Are Like Playthings By The Bedside Of A Child Deathly Sick.

Happiness Can Be Built Only On Virtue, And Must Of Necessity Have Truth For Its Foundation.

Love Is The Admiration And Cherishing Of The Amiable Qualities Of The Beloved Person, Upon The Condition Of Yourself Being The Object Of Their Action.